What is the
meaning of life? What is the meaning of - my -
life?
Is it even allowed
to put this question anymore?
Shouldn’t
there be a law against it?
This
question is surely not spoken out loudly, at least not, when you work 9 hours a
day, nearly six days a week in an engineering bureau responsible for big
infrastructure constructions, not, if you are in charge of multiple projects at
the same time, you have at least 37 employees depending on your managements
skills, a pregnant wife and two two-year olds rumbling in the house, as well as
a very badly educated Labrador named Doga.
When I
don’t think too much, everything works out fine. I master my job, we have a
perfectly arranged schedule with my wife and I even have time to meet the boys
for a basketball game on Sunday mornings. The days pass by and I haven’t even
noticed it.
But today I
found my old pen. It lay in one of the drawers, at the very bottom. I called it
my magic pen, he was given to me by Uncle Louie, two weeks before his plane
crashed, and I carried it with me ever since I had it in my possession since third
grade. I carried it during good old school times and I carried it even through university
times. The pen is also were I got my nickname from: Doc Samson. The pen is
green and shows Doc Samson, Hulk’s friend in the comic series, in the upper
part inside a water compartment. With this pen I wrote 62 short stories and 7
unfinished novels. Ahhhh…, those were times…
Where did
they go? What am I doing with my life?
On my walk
home I pass the Lawrence
Krauss Bridge,
our last year’s project. It doesn’t look new anymore. The colour is starting to
fade and some kids have sprayed graffiti everywhere. One of the sentences I
read there makes me ponder.
When I come
home, I open the door and nearly stumble over Jane’s old pottery box. It’s
standing in the middle of the way; I hear the children shouting and the dog
barking. The tiredness which was fading away during my walk home, suddenly is
back on my shoulders.
Jane comes
into the hallway.
“Hello darling”,
she smiles at me and greets me with a short kiss. “Can you be so kind and carry
this box down to the cellar?”
“Sure…”
“Everything
all right with you? You seem like you were gnawing on something…”
“I just
past my bridge and it’s full of graffiti…”
“Ah, you
saw it, too?”
“I saw
what?”
“The clever
phrase…” she laughs openly “it’s there since last week. I was wondering when
you would come up with a comment.”
“The clever
phrase…?”
“Oh, come
on Sam, … You have one life and one
million dreams. Choose few dreams and fully dig in, or have thousands and only scratch
the surface. What’s it gonna be? ... You didn’t read it? I think it suits
your bridge perfectly.”
I have to
smile at the cleverness of my wife.
When I enter
the twins’ dorm, they drop everything and come rushing towards me, each one
hugging one of my legs with their short little arms and demanding to be lifted
up. Doga joins the party and pushes one of the twins, so he stumbles on his
brother… Jane starts laughing and I know I have made the best decision.
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